


Assassins

by BrokenKestral



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Morbid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenKestral/pseuds/BrokenKestral
Summary: Four Assassins. Four Monarchs. Four unpleasant surprises.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. Assassin of the Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: some of these chapters will contain death.
> 
> Disclaimer: Assassination is a long, disciplined, and evil trade that I know nothing about, and the people being targeted by it belong to somebody else. So no killing or suing me for this story, all right?
> 
> A/N: Yes, I am well aware one of these POVs is going to be highly irritating (I got highly irritated writing it! so you've been forewarned), but I'm hoping that makes the ending more satisfactory.

"Lucy, are you going to the shore today?"

Lucy turned and looked up the long flight of stairs at her sister, but before she could answer, Edmund's voice echoed through the open double-door to the library.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Lu!"

"Why not?"

The King appeared in the open doorway, looking rather rumpled with his hair askew and his tunic wrinkled. "There's that group of sailors running about, from three separate ships, and some of the Animals don't like the smell of them."

"But that's why I'm not going alone, I'm going with the Panthers!" Lucy protested. Edmund frowned, and Susan glanced from one to the other.

"Maybe you shouldn't," she began.

"Please," Lucy asked, her tone pleading when her siblings didn't respond. "I haven't been outside Cair Paravel these past eight days, ever since the first trading ship docked. I'll be careful, but Purpoise is only here for a season, and he'll be leaving soon. I told him I'd meet him today. I _have_ to go to the shore."

Susan's forehead remained wrinkled with worry, but Edmund smiled wryly. "None of us do well being cooped up, do we? I've only kept my sanity because we've found a new set of books, but I don't think they're your sort—the ancient script you don't like reading." He glanced at Susan. "Oh, I say we let her."

" _Let_ me?" Lucy asked as she frowned.

"Yes, _let_ , because we all agreed we wouldn't do anything remotely foolish without the others' permission, ever since Peter was attacked while visiting our neighbors," Susan reminded them. "Do you really think it'll be alright?" she asked Edmund, her voice troubled. He nodded, and Lucy beamed at him, before turning once more to Susan.

"I'll be very careful. Please may I go out?"

Susan sighed. "Oh, you might as well. But take both guards with you!" she called after her younger sister, who had immediately exited. Lucy's muffled affirmative floated back to their ears.

"I'd better oversee packing up the newest selection of Dwarf-made decorations we hope to be trading." Susan turned towards the door opposite the Cair's smaller library.

"And I'll get back to reviewing ancient trade agreements," Edmund said, glancing resentfully over his shoulder. "Why the Calormenes should kick up a fuss now, two years after we began trading, and _just_ when we found those new books…" He turned back into the library, his grumbles fading as he wended his way between the shelves. Susan switched directions a few moments later, realising that telling Peter about the new books would make his day—he enjoyed reading of Narnia just as much as Edmund, and that might mean he'd find something to read to the three of them, before they went to bed that night as they gathered before the fire in one of their rooms. Those evenings were Susan's favourite, and she smiled as she thought of the evening to come. That, at least, would be a happy moment.

Only not everyone in their kingdom was quite so happy.

* * *

The Narnian sun was annoying.

At least Calormen nobles had the sense to meet beneath covered awnings or in cool courtyards. But no, this target was of importance in _Narnia_ , a silly land with a tiny castle perched by a baking, gritty, dirty shore. Who with any sense put the castle on the _edge_ of the land?

Oh, right, there was some _myth_ about looking for a lion in the sea—which made as much sense as myths usually do-none at all, to be clear. The idiots built an entire castle based on a myth. I snorted, the hot air another irritant on my sweating lip. And what was the end result? It meant I did _not_ get to hide myself under a roof or beneath a tree. No, I was stretched out on rocks and sand, on a Tash-forsaken beach with no shade, watching demons crawl by on four legs. I sneered at them. They did not frighten me! I had seen far fiercer things. I ignored the Beaver calling a hello, flicking my eyes up the sky.

Would this waiting never end? Idly I slid my hand over my tunic, feeling along my back. The pale, poorly woven cloth made me look like every other sailor. But I was _not_ a sailor. No, I smiled as my fingers barely touched the outline of the three daggers hidden in their sheaths, smiled at the thought of the poison coating their blades. One for the target and two for the guards.

Soon the waiting would be over, and it would be time to use the blades. Soon.

As soon as my target came along, that is.

I scowled, feeling the sweat move on my face as my mouth formed the downward turn. My _target_.

Little more than a young girl, ha! I, who had killed Tarkhaans, Vizers, Dukes, pirates, warriors!

Oh, the money was good regardless of the target. We made sure of that. The Tarkhaan who'd hired us had counted out our payment with oily, soft fingers ( _he_ had never bothered to learn of weapons, more occupied with counting houses and merchant ships—and he called himself better than us!), carefully weighing out the coins in his sack and had stacked them, piece by golden piece, into four gleaming towers. I and my companions had bowed as we swept them into bags of our own. Bowed because we must, because he was our client. We were paid up front, and we would do what we were paid for—but I had been given the boring task, the youngest, a _girl_. Why did she have be assigned to me? I'd have much preferred the High King.

Not only was she a _girl_ , but she lacked all common sense. I'd asked one of the Narnians at the dock (a man, of course, not one of the demon beasts—they were likely unreliable) if they ever came out, and he'd said she'd sent a messenger to a _Turtle_ , and had promised to meet him here tomorrow. Even the slight challenge of breaking into Cair Paravel was denied me!

Would she never come? I scanned the tree line again. I could not hide in there; in Tash we heard far too many tales of demons who lived in the wood itself. What kind of land was this, where even trees might betray me? So gradually, so gradually, so none would note it, I dug myself a ditch, the rim hidden by stones, and filled it with seaweed to hide my scent from the demons. Seven days it had taken me, my companions assuring me the _girl_ could not stay away from the shore long, and now that she was coming, it was time for us to strike.

Or it would be. I touched the daggers again. Oh, how I would enjoy sinking them in, payment for making me wait!

Wait—there, among the trees! A little girl with-

Oh, the ugly madness of this country! Her guards were black beasts, great big Cats, far faster humans could be. I slid the blades out from under the cloth, careful to make no noise. I would have to throw while they were much farther away. But I could do it. Daggers were _my_ weapon.

* * *

Lucy tilted her head backwards, enjoying the warmth of the Narnian sun. "There's nothing like the feel of the sun on the shore, is there?" She smiled, stopping for a moment and making her guards stop as well, just as a flash of metal caught the older twin's eye.

"Queen Lucy, down!" he roared, one paw knocking her off her feet. Salyte dashed in front of her, catching the dagger in one shoulder with a meaty thud. The Panther roared her own defiance as she turned towards the threat, daring it to strike their Queen.

But a moment later Salyte buckled, her legs trembling, her head falling forward. Her eyes closed halfway, and Lucy reached up on hand to catch her, trying to stabilise the heavy Cat. Sethen sniffed the air, looking with wide eyes for their attacker. Salyte roared again, then snapped her teeth closed, just as Lucy heard a second _thud._ Lucy rolled to her knees, peering above the black furred back, and saw a head lifting out of the sand, above it a hand raised up to throw. Lucy's hand snatched her own dagger from her belt and she _threw_ , not at the head, but at the hand causing Salyte pain. Her dagger flew swifter, her aim truer, and another howl of pain echoed down the beach, human this time. Sethen bounded over his sister, teeth bared, and Lucy turned her attention back to her wounded guard.

"You'll be okay," she whispered as she reached for the other Christmas present hanging from her belt.

* * *

I stared at my wrist, at the dagger that pierced. This could not be happening. She had beaten me—me, Assassin of the Knives, beaten by a girl! A roar thundered in my ears, closer than the ones before, and I grabbed hastily for the third knife I'd dropped. My fingers never reached the hilt.

* * *

Salyte healed within moments, and both of us looked towards her brother. Sethen's front was slick and wet, but his eyes were entirely on the two of us.

"Salyte?" His sister nodded, and he closed his eyes in relief as he nuzzled her, just for a moment. "We'd best get back. The shore is not safe."

"And we'd better tell their other Majesties what happened," his twin agreed.

Lucy scowled. "That means I'll be confined inside again," she grumbled. "But we'd better bring the prisoner." The Panthers glanced at each other, then nodded.

"We will see to it, Your Majesty," Sethen responded in a gentle voice.* "But let's get you inside first."

Lucy turned, most of her body hidden by the two Cats who pressed themselves close, shielding her as much as possible.

"Thank you for my life, Your Majesty," Salyte said when it seemed the young Queen had begun brooding.

"Oh, you're welcome, always," Lucy responded instantly. "I was just wondering—why would someone try to kill me?"

"Narnia's growing wealth makes it a tempting target for other nations," Sethen explained.

"No, I know that, Peter explained it all, when someone tried to kill him—what I meant was, why try to kill _me_? I'm the youngest." She felt both Cats stiffen. "What is it?"

"I think we should get back to Cair Paravel and warn the guards." Sethen's voice sounded stiff.

"Oh, you don't think—do you think there are more?" Lucy asked, catching on. She began to run, her siblings first on her mind, the Cats bounding beside her. "If any of them gets hurt, they're not allowed to lecture me about getting into trouble outside!"

OOOOO

*If it's not obvious, the Assassin of Knives is dead, but the Panthers aren't sure they should tell their young Queen that, at least not without consulting her siblings first. Sethen did not take kindly to someone knifing his sister.


	2. Assassin in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Much as I wish I could claim Cair Paravel's library, it isn't mine, and nor is anything else you're reading. Except my screen name, that belongs to me.

"Smooth-tongued as Serpents, greedy as Dwarves, and as full of themselves as any Man or Beast I've ever met," Edmund muttered to himself as he scanned the third ancient letter from a Tisroc (who had, fortunately, died) and his Vizier to the kingdom of Narnia. He set the scroll down on the smooth wooden table and allowed his head to thunk down beside it. "I almost prefer the days when _I_ was the bully. At least then I could repent of it, which is more than I'll bet these chattering Squirrels ever did."

"That's not very nice to Squirrels," reprimanded his brother.

"Peter!" Edmund jumped and turned around to glare at the High King. Peter wasn't looking at him, instead eyeing the scroll Edmund had just set down.

"Is that one of the new books Susan mentioned?"

"No, it's an old letter from the blasted country of Calormen, talking about trade agreements." Edmund turned back to the table and poked the scroll with one finger. "Since they've decided that a fourth of every load has to be divided between Tisroc (may his treasure halls be open to thieves) and Tash's temple, I wanted to see what the agreements used to be. Give us weapons to argue with."

Peter walked around and fell into the chair opposite Edmund, then reached over to take the top letter off of the pile to Edmund's right.

"I say, Peter, you don't have to-"

"If we split the stack we'll both have time to look at those books Susan mentioned," Peter retorted, leaning back in his chair as he began scanning the letter. "By the Lion's mane, their handwriting's worse than ours is." Edmund snorted, drawing his own letter back towards himself.

A pleasant half hour passed, the work made much lighter by sharing it. And, of course, by the comments they each had an audience for.

* * *

Not everybody believed in sharing work. I certainly didn't.

There were times I hated this life. Oh, I was good at it. The High Assassin picked his underlings with the same weighty deliberation as his targets, and he had chosen me the day I'd lied myself into his servants' housings and stolen his favourite sword. It had been made for Galma's greatest king, six generations past, and I managed to lie my way into the chamber where it hung. Fourteen servants died for their failures, but I, I was hired, trained, named the Close Assassin. Already I'd charmed the disgusting Dryad who answered the door, pretending to have a gift for Their Majesties, and she'd pointed me straight to King Edmund's presence, laughing as I tucked a pink flower behind her ear. She hadn't moved like a warm human woman, and I knew I'd need a bath after touching her.

But I knew the way now. Two corridors down, up a flight of stairs, then through the double door on the left. There I could deliver my gift.

That was my secret, the truth of my success. My lies convinced all my hearers, because they were always variations of the truth. I changed the truth, altered it, limited it, did something to change it into something they wanted to hear, and they'd beckon me closer, they'd lean in, they'd want to hear more. They let me close enough to touch. I could be a servant, a sailor, a ruler, whatever I needed. And I was, a servant of death, a sailor forcing the winds of fate, a ruler of lies. I was in the second corridor now, that much closer to the king, that much closer to fulfilling my role.

And I hated it. (Look at these stone stairs, made for more than just humans; how did the monarchs stand using such broadly spaced stairs all the time? Wait, was someone coming? A Dwarf! I sped to the nearest open door, listening—silence on the other side. I slipped in, waiting for the footsteps to fade.)

* * *

In the library, both Narnian rulers looked up as a Dwarf approached and bowed.

"Yes, Niknak? What is it?" the High King asked.

"That Calormen merchant's insisting he see you again. I could have just told him what we did to the last uppity merchant, Your Majesty, but with the trade agreements hanging, I kept my replies short. He's still insisting, and the guard he brought is laying his hand on his sword."

Peter sighed, pushing the paper away from him. "Want to trade, Ed?"

"I'll take what they write over the live thing any day." But he watched his brother get up. "Do you want help?"

"No, it's best you stay here and find us something to use. But don't get so lost again, or I might not be able to resist scaring you again when I get back." Peter grinned before walking out. Edmund set Peter's pile of unread papers on his own, sighing at the stack that he now had to tackle on his own.

* * *

I watched as the Dwarf returned, the High King walking beside him. My fingers itched to grab my short scimitar, to pull it from the straight sheath hidden in my flowing pants—but two were harder to lie to than one when they are different stations, and he was not my target. Taking the risk to get close to him before finishing my own target would be foolish.

So I watched them go, my eyes drawn to the sword resting on the High King's waist.

I'd stolen the High Assassin's sword for its beauty, its wealth, but also because I loved swords. I loved their beauty, the way they brought death whistling through the air, the power they gave to the hands that wielded them. It was why I served the High Assassin. I had never seen his equal, never seen one who could best him by the sword. Someday I would learn his method of killing, and I would have the power of the sword. I would be a warrior.

I snorted. I would be a warrior. Not like this boy king, withdrawing into the land of books, of inky words and dusty shelves, haunted by decrepit old men who argued about a world they knew nothing of. He stayed in an outskirt of the realms of the dead. I would send him all the way there.

I opened the door, not bothering to be silent. He would think I was one of the servants—the castle was rife with them—if he heard at all; scholars seldom heard anything but the words that disagreed with their invalid opinions. What had all the book learning taught him? I reached for the nearest book, snorting again at its title. Is Man a Myth? Useless. I walked here as proof that man existed. They were ruled by men. Such helpful books, asking questions without bothering to see the answers. I dropped the book, not caring when it fell off the shelf and onto the floor. It ripped and I laughed softly.

Now, on to find the boy king. To approach him. A servant, I was a servant, come to serve him into his true realm. Soft-spoken, respectful, but not fawning, not these Narnians, though a Fawn itself were a servant. Ah, there! A dark head bent over a table, his back to me. I wound the silken cord—it left fewer marks—around both hands, the short length in the middle perfect for his small neck. Time for the servant to approach.

"Your Majesty?" I stole a step closer, ready to come near with the freedom Narnians showed-

And the king whirled around, the knife in his hand cutting through the silk, curving down to bury itself in my thigh before I'd registered he'd moved. "Wha-"

I felt it then, the burning, screaming pain, and I crumbled, panting. The pain! There was so much pain! The King stood over me, another knife in his hand, but I couldn't look higher, it hurt so much. He shouted something, calling, and in response rumbling, thumping noises grew closer, spilling into the library and running down between the shelves.

"Take him," the King commanded. He reached down and pulled his knife from my thigh, and I screamed. "Alert the guard. Oreius, do you want to interrogate him?"

"Your Majesty is not hurt?" a deep voice asked, and the King snorted.

"He dropped a book and laughed. If he was a Narnian, I'd eat my armour. They know what Susan's librarian does to someone who disrespects books. I heard him do it, as clearly as I heard your footsteps. I wasn't about to let someone sneak up on me again today."

There was a pause. "Again, Your Majesty?" Couldn't they argue later, when my hands weren't clamped around my leg to stop the spurting blood? Seriously, I was wounded! Both of them looked down at my whimper.

"Consider your lecture postponed, Your Majesty." Strong hands, with fingers larger than a human's, grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up with minimal effort. "I shall see to this first, and set the guard on alert. Do not forget to clean your knife."

* * *

King Edmund watched Oreius carry the cowardly, whimpering, human away. (He could hardly call the failed assassin a man—though Oreius did have that effect on most people. Or maybe it was the pain.) The assassin had hardly been a warrior—then he turned back to his paperwork.

It wasn't fair that he'd been attacked but the work _still_ had to be done. An attempt on his life should earn him a break. But no, he was a knight and a king and had to be responsible. He sat down, picking up a dusty old letter on his way.

He set it down again.

It wasn't that he had to work, it was that he didn't know if his siblings were all right. Susan and Peter would throw up such a fuss when they found out! But he'd been paying attention, so better him than them or Lucy.

They were all right, of course. Oreius put the guards on alert.

But Edmund found himself wishing heartily that he knew it for certain.

He looked at the letter on the table, then at the door. He made up his mind, resolutely pushing his chair back and standing, just in time to see Lucy dash through the door.

"Edmund!" Lucy's steps were coming around the shelves at a breakneck pace, and she ran into view with the two Panthers beside her moments later. Edmund's dark eyes took in her hand on her dagger, Sethen and Salyte's close proximity and roving, wary gazes just as Lucy saw the puddle of blood on the floor. "Ed?"

Edmund waved a hand dismissively. "Just an unpleasant fellow I had to deal with. What is it? What has you running?"

Lucy frowned, but looked up at him. "Someone threw daggers at me on the shore." Edmund moved before he was aware of it, hands reaching out to her, but she pushed back away. "I'm fine, it hit Salyte, and Sethen took care of him, but we thought there might be more?"

Edmund was looking towards the door, hands clenching. He set aside his anger at the assassin who tried to kill his younger sister. He'd deal with that later. "We must find the others."

Lucy turned, her smaller legs nearly jogging to keep up with his strides, and the Panthers strode on both sides, fur bristling and eyes cool, their nostrils fully open to every scent.

"Who do you think wants to kill us?" Lucy asked suddenly, and Edmund stopped short, her quick steps taking hre a few lengths ahead.

"Lots of people," he answered shortly, but he slowed his stride down, having noticed her jogging. Lucy was the one sibling he could keep safe at the moment, and he wasn't leaving her behind.

"Really?" Lucy asked in a small voice.

"We're Kings and Queens; it comes with the territory. It's nothing personal, Lu."

"That doesn't help," she snapped. Edmund took a deep breath and set aside that irritation as well. "Do you think the others are okay?" she asked after a moment.

"I intend to find out." He turned towards the throne room, knowing that was where Peter had gone.

They met Susan in the corridor outside.


	3. The Silent Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: so, Silent took me completely by surprise, and would be most offended if I claimed her story as my own. Nothing belongs to me, then.

The Gentle Queen surveyed Edmund and Lucy for a moment and raised both eyebrows. "Was it a difficult morning?"

"Did anything happen to you?" Lucy blurted out.

"Quite a bit, yes," Susan responded, shooing the guards from behind her as her siblings came closer. "I found Peter, sent him to the library to help Edmund, went to my room to supervise the packing up of the lanterns, jewellery, ornamental daggers, and saddle stirrups the Dwarves have made so far, as well as the herbs I heard might be a hit for the healers of Galma. Oh, and I was only halfway through when I was interrupted—and by a most unusual visitor."

* * *

Earlier that day, I, the Silent Assassin, made my way to the Gentle Queen's chambers. I'd spent my time listening to Tarkheenas and Galman nobles gossip about her, this beautiful young Queen, and I'd heard that she was quite fond of some of the nobles in Archenland. At once, I decided to dress to match, wearing the ornate dress of a highbred lady with all the trappings, _despite_ the others trying to argue me out of it. Oh, how the High Assassin scowled when I insisted on wearing the jewels we'd been paid with two jobs ago! But any chance I had to play with the pretty things made even the easiest job well worth it.

I'd timed my work so I could enter the Queen's chambers. I didn't have to—finding her in the stables would have been far easier, with so many dark corners to hide, and even the Horses wouldn't have heard my approach—but I could not pass this up. A Queen's chambers. I wanted so badly to rifle through it—I was skilled enough I could do it before I killed her; she'd never notice—to pretend for a moment I was a queen, and all the pretty things in the world were mine. Just for a bit.

It would distract me from—what I was doing. The High Assassin said I was ready. He said I'd been stealing long enough. He took me aside from the others, just before we reached land, and told me my skills were too good to waste on stealing any longer. He gave me the pouch of poison, telling me to coat something the Queen always used, something near to her hand, that she would touch before any others. And then I'd leave, before she did. Before anyone saw me. Before I had to see—

But first, before I had to do that, I would enjoy myself. In a Queen's chambers.

Ah, here we were. A lovely cedar door, with a carved crown of leaves. But sadly the door was closed. Opening a door could catch the Queen's notice. I would have to go around, now that I knew where I was. Outside I went, then. The closest window was just at the end of the hall.

I opened it, set both hands on the windowsill, and prepared to swing my legs over—only to have them weighted down by fabric. I looked down and scowled at the cumbersome lacy material. Perhaps there were disadvantages to being dressed with abundant wealth.

No matter. I stepped onto the windowsill instead of swinging over, and jumped to the ledge not an arm's length away. This was easy! I should rob castles more often. I listened, one foot balanced on the ledge and my body still hidden by the stone. No noise.

I hopped from ledge to ledge, always listening before swinging past in a flurry of white lace and pink embroidered roses, keeping my laughter inside. It was a glorious day, the beautiful sea on one side, and the excitement causing my blood to rise. This, this was the life!

I winced as I realised "life" might be the wrong word, considering what I was doing. Ugh. No wonder Close and Knives were so sober all the time. And no wonder the High Assassin rarely smiled. Killing probably took all the joy out of life.

I put the thought resolutely away. I was going to have fun in a Queen's chambers. That's what I would think about. Oh, all the pretty things I would find! I hummed under my breath as I reached the last window, taking a moment to admire the sea while I listened. Narnia truly was a lovely place; how could that fat merchant hated its beauty and wealth so much? It wasn't like it wouldn't rub off on him, and he was rich enough anyway.

I could hear someone moving inside, so I tucked my hair over one shoulder so it couldn't fall down, and bent for a quick look, flashing my face into one corner and then away.

A lovely, lovely girl was bent over a long table, her back to the window. I hadn't seen anyone else. Good thing I hadn't come in by the door! I breathed and bent down again, a bit longer this time, watching her. Her hands were busy with something on the table, wrapping it, I guessed by the way her elbows moved. She was careful with it, gentle, winding something around it several times before moving around the table and into an adjoining room. I quickly opened the window, nudging the latch up with a slim metal file, hopping soundlessly down, closing it, and moving to stand behind one of the bed curtains, all before she came back. I had to watch her now, to see what she touched. Normally I'd laugh inside. Watching someone and they had no idea I was there! Now that was fun.

But this felt—different. I couldn't help remembering I was watching her so I could kill her. I didn't like that.

It's just a job. Just a pile of gold and a wealthy Queen.

A beautiful, beautiful Queen, who touched the things on the table with such care. I could see some of them now—lanterns with lions engraved on the sides, or suns, or one—oh, it shone, it was so glorious, I breathed out—silently—in wonder. The sides were gold, and engraved on them were trees, branches intertwining at the top like the clasp of friends, flowers growing in the grass under them, and strange half-goat creatures dancing as they piped.

Next to them were stacks of cups. Just cups, I would have thought, if I heard Knives talking about it. But no, these were cups for royalty. Delicate golden veins ran through the clearest glass, as if an almost translucent crown had been frozen in the glass. The stems were solid gold, the bottoms a gold base with red glass letters that spelled "Narnia," and a tiny red lion after the word. My fingers ached to touch it, to see if it was as smooth as it looked, if the glass would fog at the heat of human skin.

The Queen blocked my vision of the table as she moved once again to the other room, and I ran with silent steps to the table, one finger outstretched.

Oh, the glass was cold and smooth. The cup of the goblet was smooth as well, the gold held within the glass completely, so all I could feel was crystal. I bet closer, studying the tiny lines; I could make out no seams in the glass. How was this done?

I was taking them. I didn't care if the High Assassin said they'd tie us to the murder and should be thrown overboard; I loved them, and I was keeping them. I touched a second one with my other hand, and it felt just as delicate and cold as the first. Oh, how lovely they were.

"I've asked the Dwarves to make us our own set," a clear voice said behind me, and I spun to look. The Queen regarded me from the open doorway, young eyes appraising. "Aren't they lovely?"

My fingers began to tingle, and I realised with horror I'd clasped the goblet so tight I should have shattered it.

I set it down, turning so she couldn't see my face. I was dressed as a noblewoman. I was dressed as a noblewoman. I should be fine. Put the poison on something and go, making sure I heard nothing in the hall.

"Would you like to use them before we let them go?" The Queen didn't seem to notice I didn't answer—maybe she was used to that. Maybe all Queens were. She stayed on the other side of the table, putting things in order as she went, but heading for a dresser with a teapot on it, with cakes, toast, and other foods. She brought the tray over—she was serving us? A Queen?—and poured into two of the goblets.

I tried not to swallow. This was the perfect opportunity. "Thank—thank you, Your Majesty." I took both cups, opening the tiny vial I'd kept in one with a sleight of hand, careful not to let it touch my skin. I poured it into one, handing it to her with an awkward curtsy.

I could really learn to hate these skirts. And the beautiful goblet I was drinking out of, even. Because it—it'd take the poison. I'd offered it to her as a courtesy in return for hers, and it'd kill her. And she was so young.

"Switch with me?" A smile played on her lips, and I nearly dropped my goblet. She laughed, reaching across the table to close my hand around the one I held. The one without the poison. "I am teasing, though it was in very poor taste. Forgive me, then?"

I couldn't answer that. I couldn't forgive her when I…

I drank my tea in one gulp, desperate to get out of there, to go to the door, only to stagger into the table. I looked at her in confusion.

"It's just a sleeping draft," she said calmly. Reassuring me? Did—did she know? "We were sending herbs to trade as well, and I slipped some into your drink. You'll be fine in the morning."

I looked at her, and she was smiling at me. She was as pretty as the lantern. I reached over and knocked her goblet over, spilling the tea down the tablecloth and onto the floor. "Don't touch it," I told her, my words slurring. I sat down on the ground, blinking. But I had to make her understand. "Don't touch the tea."

* * *

"So I sent her to the dungeons, and the guards came back and informed me there was another assassin being held there. That assassin had confessed there was an assassin after each of us."

"He did?" Edmund interrupted.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the Faun behind Susan answered.

"And the Robins reported one was dead on the shore, and two were in custody, so that just left Peter," Susan finished, turning towards the throne room.


	4. The High King in Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I learned I had no idea what I was doing in this chapter, and I refuse to call it mine.

Peter could hear the murmuring of his siblings' voices just outside the Great Hall door. Lucy's came through the clearest, her tone rising with excitement, even a hint of worry. Peter frowned. Perhaps he should wrap up this rather boring meeting of long-winded compliments and meandering around a point and go see what was upsetting his fellow rulers. If he could make his way through the extensive retinue the Calormen merchant brought with him, that is.

* * *

He stood before us, the High King,. All my underlings had hungered after this target. All but the pretty Silent, too absorbed with trifles to care for a king. But the rest of us—this was the mark we sought.

A boy in body, a king in face, and a warrior by stride and sword. My blood warmed to the challenge. My sword called for his head.

I would not strike him down while the petty merchant who hired us droned on and on. He'd insisted on coming to see our work done, and complained all the way across the sea that Narnia threatened his monopoly on the trade of fabrics from this region. I doubted he would survive the journey back, as I did not think the man complained less when he was happy. He would not be grateful for our work, but complain of it. And by Tash and the other gods, if he complained all the way home, he would be my sword's next target.

But before his death, I had another. The King stood before me, polite and impatient. I would take his life for the mouseling beside me, and take his sword for myself.

But I would grant him a warrior's death. I drew my sword, watching him take a quick step back and crouch—a warrior indeed. His sword shone in his hand, already unsheathed. And since I challenged him, he would not let another interfere. His head was mine.

The rest of the world faded out, the merchant scuttling away behind me, the men around him falling back with him, the doors opening—none of it mattered now. Only my target.

* * *

The High King did not have his sudden opponent's focus. His siblings were entering the Great Hall. He took three large steps back, out of reach of the bodyguard's immensely long sword, and allowed himself one glance at the other three. Walking—moving easily, eyes intent, but unharmed. Indeed, Edmund seemed irritated. Peter rather hoped it was with the man stalking him at swordpoint, and not Peter himself. He'd had enough unpleasant surprises for one day.

"Really, Peter, why haven't you dispatched him yet? Both our sisters handled their visitors before mine even reached the library, by all accounts. And mine might have been hard to pick out among a group like that, but really, yours is a head taller than anyone else."

Peter's hand gripped his sword more tightly, for just a moment, but he breathed in, settling his anger at the knowledge that threats had been made to his siblings too. The anger would fuel his fight, when used well—and Edmund knew that.

* * *

The target circled, wary. He was no heedless boy. I smiled, loosening the muscles of my wrist—and swung.

My sword had a reach few could predict, but this target ducked under. I frowned and swung again, overhead, but his blade met mine, twisting the stroke away. He was smaller. Slipperier.

To work, then.

Overcut, it glanced off his blade, I swung _back_ , and the target falls back, falls _down_ , _strike!_ He rolls, I take two steps forward, avoid the shield he tripped on, _strike, strike again, and again!_ He's fast, too fast.* I must change. I swung, forcing him back, then sheathed that sword and drew the second from my left, throwing it to my other hand.

A shorter sword for a short target. I grinned, moving forward.

* * *

Peter saw Lucy slip out of the Great Hall from the corner of his eye. Edmund stepped forward, hand on his sword, but Peter shook his head, in one small movement. He looked back at his opponent, knowing Edmund would listen—unless Peter got in trouble. The swordsman took swift steps forward, making Peter dodge; he darted around this mountain of a man, who was sheathing that monstrous sword, and looked towards the door. Lucy'd returned, breathless, with Susan's bow and three arrows clutched in her hands. Susan took the bow, stringing it in one graceful movement and nocking an arrow.

Peter smiled wryly. Yet another instance where Aslan's choice of four monarchs proved good. He turned his attention back to the Calormene. Susan would keep the other three safe, and, as long as Peter didn't block her shot, Peter wouldn't come to harm either. Peter had no qualms using an arrow to kill an assassin.

* * *

The smile of the King caught my eye, and I turned.

They had _failed._ One, perhaps, was believable, but before me stood the other three Narnian monarchs. What was this land, that these children should have lived and my skilled killers fail?

No matter, then. There was a reason I never failed, and it was not for my skill with the sword alone. "To arms, and bar the doors!"

The six men I'd added to the merchant's retinue drew swords and bows from under their clothes, two running at my command to slam the doors and bar them, three pointing arrows at the three younger rulers, and one down with an arrow through his eye. This Queen already had another nocked and pointed at me, as swift with her weapon as her brother with his feet; I smiled at her, stepping to the side to include the High King in our conversation.

"You have but two left, O deadly Queen, and there are six men. Can you loose both arrows in time to save those of your blood?" I let my eyes stray to my three archers. Her face went white, and her teeth worried her lip. No, she could not countenance losing even one, and she could not save them all.

"But you cannot leave without losing your own life, and the lives of all you lead," the High King said calmly. His eyes were on me.

I bowed to him. A warrior indeed. No, I was right to keep this challenge for myself. "Barring the doors has limited our options, O Warrior. But I have heard Narnia has men of honor, and so I offer you a bargain. How much do you trust your skill with your sword?"

"I have trusted my life to it, and will again." The King gave me his attention. He listened. Wariness, but not fear. I compared him with the man cringing against the wall, and for a moment, a brief moment, in my weakness I wished my target and buyer were reversed.

"That is good. Pit your skill against mine. If my skill proves the greater, your life is forfeit and I and these people may leave. If I lose, my life is forfeit, and I give you my word, my archers will lower their bows, and await Narnian justice."

"And my siblings, if I should lose?" the King asked quietly.

"The life of your brother would be forfeit as well, but after his removal, my client will likely be satisfied." More fool him. He would think he could handle the Queens. The Queens who had handled assassins, and would have no problem handling him.

The King's face hardened. "You do not like my terms?" I asked him. I regretted that; I would prefer we settled this with swords. "If it is your brother's life that troubles you, I can take it now." I looked again at the archers, and their arrows swung to the younger King. The Queen's bow came up instantly, the younger girl's hand reached towards an empty space in her belt—but two arrows were not enough to save the brother.

* * *

In either case Edmund was at risk, Peter knew. He would follow Aslan, fighting evil where he could, and trusting the result to Aslan's paws. "I agree to your terms." He looked to his siblings. "If he wins our duel, you let him and his men go." There were glares on their faces, but they stood in the Great Hall, and under his authority, and all three nodded. I turned back to the man threatening them. "I require the promise from your archers as well." Susan's skill could take out one, perhaps two, before they could fire, but if his archers were as skilled with bows as he was with a sword, there would no longer be four rulers of Narnia.

The man turned to his archers and they nodded as well, letting the tension release from the bows and the arrows hang from their fingers. Susan did the same. The man turned to face me again and brought his shorter sword up. "Ready, O King?" Peter bowed.

Before they could begin, a heavy _boom_ sounded on the Great Hall doors. _Boom. Boom. Boom_. The Narnian guard outside, and under the noise of their efforts, the High Assassin attacked.

He was as fast as Peter and stronger, and Peter found himself backing up, and up, and up, and darting away from the wall just in time, his mouth dry, his ears ringing with the _thuds_ and with the shouts of his siblings. By strength and speed, the assassin was the better swordsman.

But Peter trained with Centaurs, Dwarves, Fauns, and Animals. Calormenes had been his opponents before. He knew their style, knew this man's. If he could wait for an opening, he might win, by using a trick the assassin had never seen.**

If he could stay alive.

Or if the guard made it through the doors.

Round and round the Great Hall the two danced, the Calormene offensive, Peter fighting desperately for his life and his brother's. The eyes of everyone in the hall stayed fixed on the two, and so they did not notice the birds fastening ropes to the windows near the ceiling. In the noise no one heard the glass being pulled out, leaving the Hall open to the outside.

Then the booming on the doors ceased.

The next instant every Narnian thing with wings poured in the windows, snatching the bows from the three archers and blinding their eyes, seven flying to the door and removing the bar, Narnians pouring in, a circle immediately forming around the three, hiding them from all harm, and Oreius and four others heading for the man who threatened their High King.

A Lion's roar shook the hall, and as the assassin lost focus, suddenly aware of soldiers, birds, and that _he also failed_ , the High King's sword slipped past his defenses and dealt a mortal blow.

* * *

I stared down at the sword thrust through me, at the one I'd wanted to claim as my own. I looked back up to the King, the boy, heaving great gasps of air, eyes on me, still wary.

My sword fell from my fingers. My short sword, taken from a battle-weary Tarkaan. He had dropped it—I dropped it now.

I fell.

The King stood over me. He waited—for his sword.

For me to die.

Those who failed, died. I knew that. Dying _hurt_. It hurt to breathe.

"High King Peter." A grave voice, a deep one. "You are not injured?"

The King shook his head. He looked so tall.

"Peter!" It was the other three, running, a clatter around them as guards ran with them. They held him, hands moving over his arms, wiping his brow. "You won," said one of them. The younger girl, I think it was. She had a clear voice.

A beautiful voice, when everything began to hurt. The Warrior glanced at her. "Aslan's doing, not mine. He was tough. But I am His High King."

We should have remembered that. I closed my eyes.

* * *

The next few hours were a mess imprisoning soldiers, assassins, and one mad merchant who began screaming at the corpse for cheating him. The Four stayed together, moving from the Great Hall to the library, and, as things settled, picking up the new books that had been found and looking at the covers. No one really had the heart to read them yet.

Edmund sighed, setting down one on laws between Naiads and bridge-builders. He looked at his siblings. "Can we ban all unknown sailors from Narnia?" Edmund asked, half-joking.

"Oh, don't be foolish, Edmund," Susan snapped. "That's the opposite of helping Narnia."

The other three looked at her in surprise. She closed her book and looked down at it, and Peter put an arm around her.

"All four of us are alright, Su." She didn't answer. "I've an idea. Lucy, why don't you pick out a book, and we'll all go to your room and I'll read it out loud."

Lucy handed one to Peter—she'd chosen it over an hour before, having it ready, and Peter looked at the title and smiled. "Very funny." Susan looked up and took it from him, curious, and began laughing.

"What? What is it?" Edmund grabbed the book, glared, and reached over to gently hit Lucy over the head with it.

"You don't think _Why Narnian Queens are Better than Kings_ is a good choice?" Lucy asked innocently. "We did manage to take care of our unwelcome visitors first, after all."

"Only because you were headstrong and went to the shore. I did warn you going out today was a bad idea," Edmund pointed out, putting on a mock-weary air. The Four began laughing as Lucy hit him back with the closest book at hand, a ponderous law tome.

"All right, all right, I'll choose a different book!" Lucy rooted around the pile for a moment, before coming up with her real choice. "Does this one sound all right? It's about a man shorter than a Dwarf who has to destroy a ring, and he has help from all sorts of friends."

"It sounds perfect." Peter reached for it as he stood, and helped Susan stand as well. She held him in place with a gentle hand on his arm as their siblings left the library.

"The book was wrong," she murmured. She rested her head against Peter's shoulder for a moment. "I'm so glad you're alright, Peter. Thank you for keeping us safe." Peter looked down at her, then at the other two who had gone into the world he ruled and loved.

"With my life," he promised. "No matter what assassins or troubles come our way."

OOOOO

*I'm taking Peter's speed from his duel with Miraz, which is pretty much the only model I have; sword fighting is not an area I have any experience in.

**Blatantly stolen from Edmund and the DLF in _Prince Caspian_ , and should I mention, I still have no idea how Peter will win? By the time you read this I'll know, but _I have no idea right now_. I don't know a secret sword trick, so I can't use it to make him win. Ugh, why do I write things I know nothing about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was meant to be a funny story, and it came out morbid and angsty. Apparently this is an area I need to work on; but I will admit, I did enjoy writing this (mostly, at least once I figured out where it was going!). I'll try again another time.
> 
> A/N2: Just a quick reminder that the Adventures in Narnia forum is out there!


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